Leaves of Three, Let it Be
by winter machine
Summary: Happy Addek, by request. After Addison heals from her infamous case of poison oak (where nobody wants poison oak), her luck might just start to change. Finally. Vintage Grey's, post-episode for 2.19: "What Have I Done To Deserve This?"


**A/N:** More non-angsty Addison and Derek, this time a post-episode for 2.19 (the one where Addison gets poison oak "where nobody wants to have poison oak," as Bailey puts it). Prompt from simbagirl: "Derek actually works on his marriage, and he and Addison celebrate her being free of poison oak, adult style." I love vintage Grey's: episodes, fics, you name it. I tried to capture that feeling here. Thanks for the great prompt, simbagirl! I hope you like the story.

* * *

 _Leaves of Three, Let it Be_

* * *

For the first time in a very long time, Addison Shepherd can actually say that her life might be on the upswing.

…instead of a series of downhill falls, starting with her disastrous decision to sleep with Mark.

If she's honest with herself, though, the downswing started a while before that. Like when she and her husband started accepting more late night surgeries and turning down more late night dates. He forgot their anniversary first, but then she forgot his birthday. They got … busy. And lazy.

And now they're here, in Seattle, a city – and she uses the word _city_ lightly – that she'd never seen and never even given a thought to until Richard called to tell her that her husband was living there (and to ask her what the hell was going on).

Derek wasn't just living in Seattle. He was living in a _trailer_.

A trailer that she lives in now, too.

With a dog.

Her husband's ex-mistress's dog.

(Actually, she likes the dog. The dog is pretty great. The dog is one of the better things about living in Seattle, in a trailer, in the woods, with a husband who doesn't always seem to like her very much, working in a hospital with interns who hate her.)

So after all those tumbles downhill, and _I fell in love with her_ and _wait for it to pass_ … then Mark showed up, in Seattle. _Seattle._ And tried to get her to go back to New York with him.

She didn't go. Of course she didn't go. Mark was great … as a friend. He used to hold her hand and hold her hair back, on numerous occasions, when she was crying and/or drinking away her frustrations with her marriage and her life in New York. That was all fine. Except then one night after they split a bottle of wine, he kissed her, and a little part of her that never grew up liked the attention and thought that Derek would _have_ to notice her now, so she kissed him back.

Everything after that was a blur, pretty much, until…

Well. Until Seattle.

So when Mark showed up, she told him in no uncertain terms she wouldn't go back with him. He left, but Derek didn't speak to her for two days. He looked right through her at the hospital. On the elevator, he looked like he wished he had never met her. _I haven't forgiven her_ , he snapped at Mark. _And with you, I have no obligation to try._

Tumble, tumble, tumble.

In other words, Addison already had a lot of reasons to feel her life was one continuous downswing before the chilly spring morning she decided to give her husband some extra sleep and take Doc out herself for a walk, even though it was Derek's turn …

(maybe hoping it would soften him toward her)

And not knowing karma still had it in for her.

Karma visited again that morning, fiercely, in a place where no one wants karma.

It also brought with it the tiniest ray of hope – the first time she laughed with Derek in a long time. But it still hurt.

A lot.

"It's not your fault," she assured Doc the next day as she scratched his ears, packed with calamine lotion and limping, and Derek laughed at her.

"Of course it's not his fault. He's smart enough to stay away from poison oak."

"I'm smart," she scowled.

"Of course you are," he said, "just … not smart enough to stay away from poison oak."

"If you didn't live in the middle of the woods, I wouldn't need to stay away from poison oak!"

"I don't live in the middle of the woods. _We_ live in the middle of the woods," he corrected her. He poured her a cup of coffee, and she took a grateful sip.

" _We_ live in the middle of the woods," she echoed faintly.

"You don't have to sound so depressed about it," he chided her. "Listen, living here isn't that bad - when you're all healed up, we'll celebrate."

She spluttered around a mouthful of coffee and he handed her a cloth napkin.

"Celebrate?"

"Celebrate." His pager went off then. "Hospital. I need to go. Are you going to be okay here, no more choking on coffee or poison oak or …?"

"I'll see you at the hospital," she said. In her mind was one word: _celebrate._

She rode that word all the way to work.

He could have meant anything, so she tried not to get her hopes up too much, but still ... she was glad Miranda went with the steroid shot. With any luck, it would help her heal faster.

That was four days ago.

Today marks five days since Poison Oak Day. She's at the nurse's station finalizing a chart when Derek comes up behind her; she doesn't even hear his footsteps approaching, just his voice close to her ear.

"Five to twelve days," he murmurs.

She jumps, her elbow swiping the chart to the floor. "Sorry," she sputters, and when she spins to get the chart she knocks the pen off the counter too.

"Are you all right?" Derek asks mildly, retrieving the chart and pen for her. "You're very jumpy."

She glares at him, her heart speeding up. "I'm fine."

"Five to twelve days," he repeats, from a respectable distance this time, "to recover from poison oak. Generally speaking. So you're feeling … better?"

"Yes."

He leans in close again. "How much better?"

Her pager goes off. Damn it.

"Not that much better," she says hastily, over her shoulder, as she heads off to check on her patient.

It takes another two days for the rash to clear up.

And another day after that for everything to go … back to normal.

"I'm healed," she says, over coffee on the trailer's insubstantial porch. She's wearing a robe and there's a spring breeze, but it's not exactly relaxing.

"You're healed?" He looks over at her, and she nods.

"Then I'll be home by six," he says.

"I will too…?" she responds, unable to help the question mark that creeps into her voice.

He gives her a little smile, but doesn't respond.

"Did you want me to make reservations, or …?"

"No. I'll take care of it," he says, drains his coffee, and stands up. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah," she mutters, distractedly, as he heads into the trailer.

She jumps when the trailer door opens again and he sticks his head out. "If you still want a ride, you might want to put on some clothes."

Right.

Her poison oak has healed, but all through her workday long she feels an itch of a different variety. She's pretty sure she catches one of those smartass interns smirking at her – Derek has always said she's not very subtle when she's … itchy … but that can't bother her today. She's preparing to celebrate, after all. Things haven't exactly been _celebratory_ for a while. Maybe her luck is finally going to turn around.

She beats him home on purpose and drinks a fast glass of wine to settle her nerves – but just one. She ends up changing her outfit twice, which is silly. She's been married for eleven years. Derek has seen all her outfits. She changes into a third outfit anyway, one that usually draws appreciative stares. The skirt is just tight enough to be eye-catching without being too slutty.

Well. Maybe it's a little slutty.

The top is red. He likes her in red. And the neckline is … well, it's flattering, and that's all there is to it. Her heels are three and a half inches. Not three inches, and not four inches. Three and a half, because she knows from years of experience that's exactly the right height for-

"Addison?"

She jumps, startled out of her reverie as Derek pushes open the door to the trailer. She hasn't had enough time to pose seductively. Damn it. She lounges as casually as she can against the kitchen … thing, hoping her weight doesn't push it over. Trailers are really too flimsy for seductive poses.

He gives her a strange look, which wasn't exactly what she was going for. "Are you … going somewhere?"

She furrows her brow. "We're celebrating," she says faintly. "I mean, you said…"

"We are celebrating," he agrees slowly, and she lets out a relieved breath. "I don't know if that outfit is really going to work for our celebration, though."

She cocks her head slightly, trying to figure out what he's getting at. _Oh._ So it's more of a … staying in sort of celebration. She's been expecting to start seducing him at an extravagant restaurant first, but she's fine moving to the real show.

"You want me to take it off?" she purrs.

"You probably should." He sounds cheerful, which is confusing her.

"Unzip me?" she asks, disappointed when he just turns her by the hips and unzips her skirt with practiced fingers, not even stopping to enjoy the job.

"Derek…"

"And wear boots."

"What?" She props a hand on her hip, officially confused.

"We're going into the woods, Addison. This outfit isn't going to cut it."

Oh. So she's not supposed to get naked, then. Getting naked in the woods just sounds like a recipe for more karma. She cringes inwardly – apparently she's going to have to … hike, or fish, or army-crawl through the mud, because that's what passes for celebration in her new life in Seattle.

"What am I supposed to wear, then?" she asks, trying not to sound too disappointed.

"How about practical clothes?"

She looks at him blankly.

"Jeans, shirt, jacket, boots?"

"I have jeans," she says slowly. "I think. Can't I wear this shirt?"

He shakes his head.

So much for the flattering neckline.

Fifteen minutes later she's wearing jeans, a flannel shirt that belongs to Derek and that she's pretty sure makes her look like a women's college professor from the seventies, calf-high wellington boots, and a faux-outdoorsy barn jacket that she bought two years ago – for a small fortune – in an attempt to appeal to Derek's fisherman fantasies.

She glances down at the whole package. "I look ridiculous."

"You look great," he says, but it sounds like he's laughing at her.

"Derek…"

"Let's go celebrate."

She follows him reluctantly out the trailer door, wondering what she's getting herself into. He has a canvas backpack on –

A backpack! She hasn't seen him with one of those since med school – and is dressed in the rugged clothes he's always favored and has indulged since moving to the middle of the nowhere.

At least someone is thrilled with the celebration so far - Doc bounds enthusiastically around their legs, running ahead and then returning to circle them, barking at the occasional movement in the leaves that she _really_ doesn't want to think about.

"Um, Derek…"

"Yes?" he asks innocently.

"Nothing," she mutters. Apparently this forced march is just more karma.

After twenty minutes she can't contain herself anymore and she bursts out with: "You said we were going to celebrate!"

"Is that what you're sulking about?"

She scowls.

"We _are_ celebrating," he says patiently. "It's a beautiful evening. This is beautiful land."

She looks around. "This is still … your land? I don't even know where we are anymore." She's lost track; there's the lake but then they've somehow gotten turned around. All the trees look the same.

"That's okay. Close your eyes," he says, and not sure why she does it without question, she closes them.

She feels him moving closer and her heart speeds up. His lips brush hers, just for a moment, sending a tingle of electricity through her body, and then travel further, toward her ear, where he whispers words that leave her shocked:

" _We're not leaving the woods until you can identify poison oak."_

"Derek!" She pulls away from him, opening her eyes. "How am I supposed to do that?"

"Easy. I'm going to teach you."

"It's not going to work. All this nature stuff looks the same to me, you know that."

" _Nature stuff_ ," he repeats, shaking his head, "Addie, every eight-year-old boy scout in America can identify poison oak. I think one of the top neonatal surgeons in the country can learn to do it too."

"Derek…"

"You don't want another round of poison oak when you're walking Doc, do you?"

"But we can avoid that by moving out of the woods," she says desperately. "And I can walk him on a nice, civilized sidewalk."

"That's not going to happen."

"Fine, then I just won't … let nature call when I'm walking him."

"Nice try. You can get poison oak other places, you know. In fact, most people do."

"Fine. "

"Okay, good. So. Let's start with what you _do_ know. What does poison oak look like?"

"Um." She searches her memory. "It's green?"

"That's … general. And it depends on the season." He takes her arm. "What about this one?"

He's pointing to an innocent looking little plant.

"What about it?"

"Is it poisonous?"

"No."

"Wrong."

"Well, how am I supposed to know that?"

"How about this one?"

"…poisonous?" she asks doubtfully.

"Addison, that's a dandelion. Come on, you're from Manhattan, not Mars."

"They all look the same to me!"

"How is that possible? You can separate fetal blood vessels but you can't separate poison oak from dandelions?"

"Are you going to teach me or just make fun of me?"

"Well, I was hoping to do both." He wraps an arm around her shoulder. "Look, just remember: _leaves of three, let it be._ "

"Leaves of three, let it be?" she repeats. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Poison oak and poison ivy…" he pauses. "You were never a girl scout, were you."

"I was a debutante," she offers, "but we didn't do a lot of … camping … at cotillion."

"I'm confident you can learn. You beat me on almost every final in med school, didn't you?"

Mollified by this, she lets him lead her to a patch of swampy looking grass. He crouches down and beckons for her to follow.

"Ugh," she can't help saying as her boots squelch in the mud.

"Look." He extends his hand, pointing. "Leaves of three. Ground spreading, and sometimes they climb up tree trunks."

"What does leaves of three even mean?"

"Addison. Look at the leaves. See how they're growing in a group of three?"

"Do you want me to lie?"

He sighs. "Just look." He traces his finger along the plant, but half a foot away from its surface.

"But that one has five- ow!" she complains as Derek grabs her hand before she can touch it.

"Were you seriously going to – you _just_ got over your rash."

"Fine, but there are five leaves, so it must not be poisonous."

"No, that's still poison oak. See, look at the non-poisonous leaves there, how different they look. Sometimes poison oak will have five leaves, or seven, but usually-"

"Then why have a rhyme about three leaves in the first place? I'm getting a headache," she reaches to rub her eyes when he grabs her hands again.

"Now what?"

"Don't rub your face in the woods when you've been touching things and don't know what they are."

She takes a deep breath. "Leaves of three, let it be. Now can we go back?"

"Sure, as soon as you can identify it on your own."

He stands up and extends a hand to her; she takes it and lets him pull her to her feet.

They walk to another area of green grass and foliage near a large tree. Doc sniffs around happily.

"Any poison oak here?"

"How should I know?"

They stare at each other for a moment.

"Oh, fine." She flounces into a crouched position to examine the foliage. "Leaves of three, let me … whatever. Ugh."

"Well?" he says from above her and she resists picking up a rock to throw it at his head. Knowing him, he'll just start lecturing her on poisonous rock properties.

"Well, I give up, so you can just leave me out here for the bears to eat." Her eyes fill with tears.

"Addie." He crouches down next to her and rests a hand on her back. "You need to know how to identify poison oak. You live here, in the woods, even if you hate everything about it."

"I don't hate everything about it," she admits. "The lake is pretty, I guess."

"Okay then." He smiles at her, looking into her eyes for a moment, and then points to the ground with his free hand. "Any poison oak here?"

She takes a deep breath and turns back to the foliage. He keeps his hand on her back.

"Poison oak!" She shouts triumphantly after a moment. "Look!" she keeps her hands away from it. "Leaves of three, right there."

"Leaves of three," he repeats. "Nice work."

"Now can we leave?"

He stands up and extends a hand to her; she takes it, but this time he pulls her up flush against him. "I really don't want you to get poison oak again," he says against her hair. "So next time you'll check for it before you touch anything … and especially before you disrobe in any capacity, right?"

"Right," she says, and draws back enough to see his face. "Can we go now?"

"We can," he says, "if you want."

"What do you mean, _if I want_?"

"Well, if you want, we can go back to the trailer."

She nods.

"Or … we can stay here."

"And do what?" Her brow furrows. Is he going to leave her here, outward bound style?

"And celebrate." He winks at her.

"What do you –"

He's shrugging out of his backpack, and unbuckling it, pulling out a large blanket. Suddenly, she notices that the spot they're in is actually quite beautiful, close enough to the lake for a delicious breeze to waft toward them but not so close that it's swampy.

"What else do you have in there?"

"You'll see." He smiles at her. "But one of the things is a bottle of wine-" he laughs at her enthusiastic response. "Find us a spot without any poison oak and we'll spread out the blanket."

She doesn't even complain this time, just scouts their surroundings and finds a safe patch. She helps him spread out the blanket.

"You said something about wine?"

He laughs at her again. "I did say something about wine. Sit down," he gestures to the blanket and she sits, watching him retrieve a bottle of wine and a corkscrew from the backpack.

"No glasses?" she asks.

"We're roughing it," he reminds her. "But …" his eyes twinkle. "We're still celebrating." He uncorks the wine and takes a swig straight from the bottle. "To healing," he says, offering her the bottle.

"To healing," she repeats, taking a sip, then another. "Not bad," she says, and takes a third sip.

"I know what you like," he teases, taking the wine back and helping himself to more. "Hungry?"

"A little … why?"

He pulls a small cloth wrapped package from the backpack and unwraps it to reveal cloth napkins, a half-sized but very fresh looking baguette, a wedge of brie, and a paper box of rainier cherries – her favorites.

"You packed a picnic." She sits back on her heels, touched. "Derek…"

"You earned it," he shrugs. "You identified poison oak, didn't you?"

His tone changes to a more serious one. "Addison…"

She hesitates, feeling a little anxious. "Yeah?"

"I know you don't like living in the woods."

She swallows a sarcastic remark and just nods.

"I … appreciate that you're willing to live here. For me."

She looks at him with surprise. "I'm … well, I appreciate that you're … willing to let me live here with you," she says softly. "Look, Derek, I … I know you feel an obligation to me, and I just want to say that I know it will take time to forgive me, okay? And I can wait. I want to wait."

For a minute he's silent, then he reaches out and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. "You're not an obligation," he says quietly. "I _want_ to try."

"You do?"

"I do," he says, like he did eleven years ago, and it makes her smile.

She reaches for a cherry, breaking the intensity of the moment. "These aren't poisonous, right?"

"You're the expert now," he teases.

"True." She holds the little yellow red and yellow globe out in front of her by the stem to examine it. "No leaves at all," she says confidently, and pops the cherry into her mouth, where it explodes with a burst of sweetness. "Oh my god."

Derek grins at her reaction. "They're in season," he says. " _And_ local."

"They're incredible." She takes another. "I love rainier cherries."

"I know you do. Did you know they were developed here in Washington State? And named for Mount Rainier?"

"I guess," she says. "I never really thought about it."

"But you've always liked them. You used to buy them at Citarella when we lived in Manhattan. They cost a fortune," and he smiles at the memory.

She glances at him, not sure what he's getting at.

"So," he says, off her look, "you don't hate Washington. You've always liked Washington. Pass me a cherry?"

She does, and he pops it into his mouth, closing his eyes for a minute as he tastes it. "Delicious. Have you been to Mount Rainier?"

"You know I haven't."

"It's beautiful." For a moment his face looks very young, like she remembers him from a decade and a half ago.

Impulsively, she touches his arm. "We should go there."

"Really?" The expression in his blue eyes is one of hope. Her heart flutters with the same thing: hope.

"Yeah," she says, and leans forward to kiss him. He tastes like cherries.

"To healing," she says when she pulls back.

He smiles at her. "To healing," he agrees, and leans forward to capture her lips again. After a moment they break away for more wine.

"Addie…"

"Hm?"

"Are you definitely all healed?"

"Definitely," she says, "why?"

"Because I have another blanket in my backpack," he says, and his eyes are twinkling. "A nice big one, that can cover … a lot of things. And Doc is napping under that tree, and, well, this _is_ the woods, so it's just you and me."

"Derek…"

"Yeah?"

"Get that blanket … now."

He grins, leans over to root in his backpack and she takes a moment to appreciate the view.

Maybe Seattle isn't so bad after all.

And maybe Addison Shepherd's life is actually on the upswing ... finally.

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 _Review and let me know what you thought!_ (And let me know if you think I should add another chapter where the "adult style" part actually comes into play ... )


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